


The Toy Store

by killingg_eve



Series: Oksana & Mommy [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Mommy Kink, Oksana - Freeform, Soft One-Shot, but it's soft mommy kink, if that makes sense...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28247169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: "Villanelle’s gaze lifts from the ground, and she sees something of interest in the corner of the store that is closest to them. There are dozens and dozens of Barbie dolls."--TW for Oksana's childhood trauma (abuse, neglect).It's a soft one-shot.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Oksana & Mommy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069202
Comments: 10
Kudos: 64





	The Toy Store

**Author's Note:**

> I had this entire daydream while I was trying to fall asleep, the other night. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!
> 
> Thank you GhostWriter84 for helping me think of a genius baby shower gift.

“Oh my god, Eve, do we have to?” Villanelle whines, as they approach a toy store and Eve comes to a halt outside of its windows.

“C’mon, Ville,” Eve says, and she nudges Villanelle playfully with her elbow.

The pair wander into the toy store with the intention of finding a gift for Elena’s baby shower. Eve knows that Villanelle doesn’t like going places with families and babies and loud children, but she seizes the opportunity while she and Villanelle are already at the mall.

Villanelle keeps her hands in her pockets and her head down while they make their way to the back of the store, where the gifts for new mothers and newborns are located.

Eve narrows her focus, scanning the shelves of light blue and light pink, dissecting the collections of bottles and pacifiers and towels. She is a seasoned pro, always bringing the perfect gift to her friends’ and coworkers’ baby showers—the thing that is overlooked, that others wouldn’t have already brought. Usually, it is something handy that the mother doesn’t need straight away, but that could save her some effort and money, later on.

While Eve searches, Villanelle’s gaze lifts from the ground, and she sees something of interest in the corner of the store that is closest to them. There are dozens and dozens of Barbie dolls. She sees their bright pink boxes and the blonde hair of many of them, and Villanelle’s feet carry her in their direction. She forgets about Eve and the baby shower and her dislike of the store.

She stops walking when she reaches them and just stares. She sees ones she likes: one with an expensive red coat; one in a golden holiday gown; and one in a pink birthday dress with tall, silver heels.

The dolls carry her away to a familiar place—a place with mountains and marshes, deserts and frozen lands, the warmth of fish soup and the chill of fermented milk. A place of juxtaposition. And as a child in that place, Oksana always saw the Barbie dolls in the shops and wanted to have them . . . wanted to _be_ them. Wanted to brush their pretty hair and keep a growing, precious collection of their gowns and shoes.

It goes without saying that this was never the experience of young Oksana.

Eve settles on a gift. She finds a tactical carrier for Kenny, which ensures that Kenny can comfortably carry the baby and also that Elena gets _breaks_ from carrying the baby.

Eve picks it up and glances around, realizing that she has lost her lover. She wonders if Villanelle really left, really couldn’t handle something about the store’s environment.

She starts to call “Vi—” when she finally sees Villanelle, down a little ways, in the corner. And Villanelle is lost to looking at dolls.

_Oh_ , Eve thinks, and then she realizes that it quite endearing.

Eve walks over to where Villanelle is and hugs Villanelle’s hip.

Villanelle comes back to reality with an inhale, an exhale.

“They’re so beautiful,” Eve says softly, testing the waters. “I know someone who looks that amazing . . . always dressed to the nines,” and she tugs on Villanelle, pulling her closer.

A smile flashes across Villanelle’s face, and then she’s looking down at the floor and blushing, and her hands shuffle in her pockets. “Let’s go,” she tells Eve, and she turns her back on the rows and rows of models; friends; dreams.

“Can . . .” and Eve braces herself, “. . . Can I get you one?” Eve asks this because Villanelle’s attention hardly ever falls on material things, with the exception of clothes.

Villanelle looks at her, now. “Eve! That’s so stupid,” she scoffs. “I am not _six_.”

Eve knows that’s a ‘yes.’

“Vill—I—Please, as a gift? Can I get one for you?”

Villanelle searches for more excuses.

“It’ll blend in and nobody will know it’s for you,” Eve continues, holding up the carrier. Her eyes beg.

Villanelle looks back towards the Barbies, trying to decide which one she would take, if she were to (theoretically) have one for herself. She gets lost in the decision of which doll, when she only meant to imagine whether or not she could take one home, at all.

“Which one do you like?” Eve all but whispers. She knows it’s likely a blonde with excellent fashion sense, and she tries to follow Villanelle’s gaze. Her chest aches with adoration when she realizes she will always think of Villanelle when she sees Barbie dolls, now.

Villanelle picks up the doll with the birthday dress. It resembles everything, really, whether or not she realizes it. The hope of having a birthday party . . . the thought of being celebrated . . . the idea of looking delightfully put-together on one’s special day . . . the promise of presents and cake and wishes. She holds the plastic box in her hands and tries not to think about the fact that this is the first time; Mama would swat her hands away until they stopped reaching

_(stopped reaching for anything)._

“Is that the one?” Eve asks, gently, when Villanelle has been wordlessly staring down at the box in her hands.

“Thank you,” Villanelle says, and she quickly trades Eve for the carrier because she would embarrassed if anyone thought that the doll was for her.

Eve smiles at her and says, “Sure,” and leads them to the front.

Something breaks inside of Villanelle, along the way, and she wonders where the limit lies. She touched the doll and held its box, but she doesn’t believe she will really own the doll—or any play thing. Why would this be different from any other time?

Villanelle’s skin heats up and her attention falls to a dad who spanks his daughter. He points his finger at her and scolds something loud and horrendous while she cries, and Villanelle notices an opened box set of Play-Doh on the floor, next to them.

She doesn’t think before her impulse to gnash her teeth sets in, and before anyone is prepared, she pins the man to the ground and holds her pocket knife to his throat, and she spits something about how she could take him apart with its tiny blade—not to underestimate her, and the like.

Eve turns and gasps because she hears Villanelle’s growls bellow throughout the store, and her blood turns cold before she realizes that she needs to save somebody—two somebodies: someone’s father and also her beloved.

“ _Villanelle!_ ” Eve scolds. And then, “Get off of him!”

“Look away, Eve!” Villanelle says lowly, her eyes still piercing the stranger’s.

“ _Villanelle!! I will . . ._ ” Eve pauses and huffs out a breath. She doesn’t want to embarrass the Villanelle she spoke with moments before, but she also senses that she knows exactly why this is happening. “ _I will return your gift!_ ” Eve threatens.

“What else?” Villanelle antagonizes. She turns her knife’s blade vertical and rests its tip against the man’s throat.

Eve has to think about it. She also needs to decide quickly, though. She reflects on her own punishments as a child and spits one out. “You will sit at the bottom of the stairs for thirty minutes, and you won’t leave a _moment_ sooner!” Eve warns.

Villanelle sighs dramatically at the stranger. “I really want to feel the stickiness of your blood,” she tells him. “It’s been a while.” She looks around at her audience: the shop workers, a couple of parents, and Eve. She speaks loudly because she wants everyone to hear her. “But that would be _really_ awful because I am _really_ hungry, and dinner has been ready since before we even went on this _stupid_ shopping trip.”

Eve ignores the insult to their time together, knowing Villanelle never actually takes things for granted.

“What?—No, Villanelle. You could still eat dinner. I wouldn’t take that away from you . . . as a punishment,” Eve says.

The man beneath Villanelle looks as though he wants to argue that _everything_ should be taken from Villanelle, but Villanelle squeezes at his throat when he tries to speak because she only cares about what Eve says.

“I could . . . you . . . you wouldn’t make me go hungry, this week?” Villanelle asks.

“No,” Eve says. She shakes her head to punctuate that she means it.

“Are you . . .” Villanelle gets lost in her thoughts, for a moment. “Are you going to lock me in the bedroom closet? And lose the key on purpose?” she asks. She asks as though she’s afraid of the answer and knows exactly what it is.

“No,” Eve says. She shakes her head, again. And she wants to cry or approach Villanelle or do something, but she knows she can’t, right now.

“ _Oh_ , Eve,” Villanelle says. “You’re so predictable. You must be _proud_ of yourself, now!” she yells. “You’re going to put me outside in the shed, instead of in the closet. You’re going to do it on a night when you _know_ it’s snowing,” she accuses with a glimmer in her eye.

“ _No_ ,” Eve says, firmly. “ _No,_ Villanelle, I wouldn’t do any of those things to you.”

Villanelle removes her knife from the stranger and puts her other hand across his throat as a warning, ensuring that he will stay down, even if she stops paying attention to him. She looks at Eve.

_“Eve,”_ Villanelle chokes. “Would you walk out on me, right now, if I killed this guy?”

Eve’s muscles tense and her throat feels like it’s closing, only leaving enough space for her to breath and survive.

_An orphan,_ Eve thinks _. Mine,_ Eve thinks. _My baby._

_“N-No_ ,” Eve stammers, trying to scold. Trying to hold the power she held before, but feeling it spill down into the ground beneath her, leaving her empty and lightheaded, in its wake. “I _won’t_ leave you, even if you kill him, right now. I—I already told you what would happen,” and she grows a little stricter, again. “You will sit on the stairs and you won’t get the gift.”

Eve watches as Villanelle’s eyes empty. She breathes and stares down at the floor, trying to decide on something. And her hands come up and off of the man.

Eve takes steady steps towards her and then stops mere inches away.

“ _Oksana_ ,” Eve says, “I will _never, ever_ leave you. I wouldn’t let go of you—unless you left me and wanted space from me.”

Villanelle calms and her heart pounds and her face softens, all at once.

“ _Please_ get up off of that little girl’s father. _Please_ come home with me, now,” Eve pleads. “This—This isn’t like you. You’re better than that,” Eve says.

“I don’t . . .” Villanelle says, and she starts to cry, a bit. “I don’t want to sit on the stairs,” she says.

Eve responds, “If you don’t do anything wrong, then I will not have to resort to the punishments.”

_Oh_. Villanelle realizes that she doesn’t need to worry about the fact that she threatened the girl’s father; she only needs to let him go, unharmed.

Villanelle stands and takes a step towards Eve, and everything inside of her still screams in warning that she will be pushed or shoved or hit if her body winds up in Eve’s personal space. It feels like a familiar trick.

She hesitates and Eve must know, because Eve opens her arms and doesn’t move towards Villanelle, knowing that Villanelle needs to close the distance in order to feel safe.

And so, Villanelle does.

**

A shaky shop attendant rings up the carrier and the doll while hoping that these two women will never enter their toy store, again.

Villanelle sees the Barbie go from one side of the counter to the other, and she realizes that this is really happening; it’s hers. She smiles towards Eve and holds her excitement inside, declaring to herself that she will celebrate in the mall or outside or in the car, rather than making everyone aware of the fact that she’s a proud, first-time owner of a Barbie.

Eve takes her credit card back from the cashier and reads Villanelle’s silent excitement easily, with a single glance.

While the receipt prints, she turns to Villanelle. She tucks blonde hair behind Villanelle’s ear and then cups her hand around Villanelle’s ear, and then she whispers so that nobody else could possibly hear.

“ _Oksana . . . my sweet little girl_ ,” Eve whispers, fondly and lovingly and soft.

Villanelle falls temporarily frozen and loses her words, but not for any bad reason. She grabs the carrier and puts her other hand in Eve’s, and then they leave.

**

Later that night, Eve comes out of the bathroom in her robe, with her curls damp from a shower. From the sink area, she catches a glimpse of Villanelle.

Villanelle sits on the bedroom floor and holds her knees to her chest. She stares at the Barbie in front of her, which stands upright in its box.

Eve joins her and kneels on the floor, and she notices how Villanelle’s eyes are still locked on the doll. Eve pulls Villanelle against her chest and kisses her for forehead.

“Are you happy with your choice?” Eve asks her.

Villanelle nods. “She’s perfect. But . . . are you sure it’s not stupid that we brought this home? Should I find a place for it in the closet?”

“It’s not stupid,” Eve says, “and no.”

She brushes her hand over Villanelle’s back and then lets go of her, and she picks up the Barbie. She brings it to the dresser and rearranges, pushing a flower decoration towards the middle of the dresser and setting the doll down in the corner closest to the bed. She angles it so Villanelle can see it from any part of the room.

“Is this good? Is this . . . her home?” she asks Villanelle, when she’s done.

Villanelle nods and says “thank you”; wipes a tear from the corner of her eye and says “I love you.”

**

Villanelle looks at the doll while Eve turns the light out. She wants to remember that it’s still here, and that it’ll still be there in the morning, and that it’ll still be hers, always.

In the dark, she finds herself being scooped into a warm embrace.

Eve holds her. She’s protective, at first, pulling Villanelle closer and kissing her and running her hand over Villanelle’s arm. She realizes it’ll be even better if she just—

She scoots up a little, encouraging Villanelle to scoot down. Then, Villanelle is all hers, perfectly available for kisses on her forehead and on the top of her head.

The pair start to fall asleep. Villanelle rests safely against Eve’s warm chest, feeling Eve’s heartbeat. And Eve starts to slip away, her arms still holding Villanelle so secure and close that the muscles in her arms might be fatigued, by morning. She rests her chin on the top of Villanelle’s head and feels warmth each time Villanelle exhales. She waits and waits—to the point of needing to hang onto the edge—ensuring that Villanelle is truly asleep before she lets herself follow.


End file.
